


Phantasm

by RationallyParanoid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Magic, Bad Driving Habits, Gen, I'll add tags and characters as they appear, M/M, Rating subject to change, be prepared for a whole lotta bullshit magical terminology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 23:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RationallyParanoid/pseuds/RationallyParanoid
Summary: Phantasm /ˈfantaz(ə)m/noun1. an illusion, apparition, or ghost.2. an illusory likeness of something.Shiro is settling into his second year of university. His grades are good, Matt still likes to steal his fries, Pidge is sort of, maybe, most definitely addicted to caffeine; all'snormal. But a brief glimpse at a motorbike in the student parking lot sets off a chain of discoveries which leaves him questioning not only himself, but everything he's ever known.A story about magic, faeries, essay deadlines, conspiracy theories, and horrific student coffee.





	Phantasm

**Author's Note:**

> I was too chicken shit to leave this up the first time... I'm sorry!

It’s difficult for Shiro to focus on his magical history textbook with Matt at the wheel. It’s not that Shiro thinks his friend is a bad driver. In fact Matthew Arthur Holt is an excellent driver, but his tendency to flick his eyes away from the road whilst nattering on about _rune distributions_ within _warding arrays_ sends skitters of nervousness down Shiro’s spine. It probably doesn’t help that Pidge, Matt’s tiny and all too intelligent sister, is in the back seat fuelling their brother’s theories and ideas with some of their own. Instead of, you know, telling him to shut up and focus on driving. Shiro supposes that things could be worse, all things considered. At least they’re not running late for their first lecture. _Yet_.

It’s 8:24 on a drab Monday morning and the siblings Holt, and Takashi ‘Shiro’ Shirogane are stuck fast in a conga line of traffic heading into the city. The commute into Arus isn’t usually this stagnant and frustrating, but it’s the start of a new school year so the streets are crammed with students heading to their respective universities and colleges. Every now and then an irritated driver lays on their horn in a useless attempt to creep another metre or so further down the road, trying to will the halted procession of cars, buses and trucks into moving. The consistent thrum of idle engines turns to white noise in Shiro’s ears. It’s soothing in an annoying repetitive way, and with a resigned sigh he shuts his textbook with a little more force than necessary. The pages snap together with a sharp _‘twak’_. Beside him, Matt whines peevishly in the driver’s seat.

“ _Ugh_ , how much longer?” he groans. Pidge snorts loudly, glasses slipping down the gentle slope of their nose with the force of it.

“I told you we should have left earlier,” they say. Shiro glances at Pidge in the rear vision mirror. They’re wrestling with their backpack; a neon green monstrosity almost half their size, and twice as heavy. It’s a small miracle that they can find anything within its confines, let alone sling it over their shoulders and carry it. Matt seems to be thinking the same, based on the critical gleam that slides over his amber brown eyes.

“I hope you’re not planning to lug that around all semester,” he says. “It’ll stunt your grow- _OW!_ ” Matt yelps, rubbing the back of his head with a dramatic wince. Pidge withdraws their hand along with a few strands of Matt’s short brown hair. They level their brother with a flat scowl. “Okay, truce. But I am serious. Are you going to get a student locker?” Matt asks. He turns his eyes back to the traffic jam in time to stop an impatient woman driving a heavily enchanted _Hyundai Getz_ from cutting them off.

“It _would_ be easier,” Pidge admits. Their fingers twist around each other, pulling every which way. It looks painful. Practised. “But what if I need a textbook for an assignment and I leave it behind? Fat lot of help that’ll be.”

“You know Shiro and I are always happy to take you to classes and the library,” Matt replies, and Shiro nods in affirmation. Katie ‘Pidge’ Holt may be a genius, but geniuses didn’t get to bend age requirements when it came to getting their driver’s license. It hadn’t stopped Pidge from trying, until a sour Altean man at the DMV had informed them that if they couldn’t see over the dashboard or reach the brakes and accelerator, there was no way they could operate a vehicle. Pidge had hexed his desk with Poison Ivy for that comment.

“I just… I hate being so _dependent_ on you,” they mumble, shrinking into the folds of their oversized _Bulbasaur_ jacket. Shiro catches their eyes in the mirror and offers a reassuring smile.

“You’re stressing over stuff that might not even happen,” he says gently. “Besides, we all have similar classes, so you can always steal Matt’s books.” Matt squawks and his eyes narrow to affronted little slits.

“Don’t give them ideas! You’re supposed to be on my side, dude,” he hisses.

“Side of what?” Shiro asks confusedly.

“The side of… people who are older?” Matt falters.

“Your vocabulary never ceases to astound me, brother,” Pidge comments dryly, and Shiro stifles a laugh in the sleeve of his grey Henley. Matt sulks, and then his eyes go comically wide and he jerks the steering wheel and brakes sharply. Shiro feels his seatbelt snap against his chest like a constrictor snake; containment and force runes flaring to life along its length. Pidge’s unrestrained backpack lurches out of their hands and slams heavily into the back of Matt’s seat with a ‘ _whump_ ’, spilling books and papers and pens across the foot bay.

A bright red motorbike zips in between the metre gap of Matt’s _Suzuki Swift_ and the _Toyota Corolla_ ahead of them.

A pause permeates the small space of the car. Shiro glances down at his person, steadying his breathing. The seatbelt cuts into his chest tightly. It aches, and he knows it will leave a bruise. He goes to knead away the pain, and finds that his right hand has wrapped around the arm rest and crushed it. He relaxes his death grip on the upholstery, flexing the arcane infused metal that makes up his prosthetic. He hastily scratches a repair rune across the surface of the arm rest and wills it to life, watching with grim satisfaction as the warped material eases back into shape.

“ _I hate it when they do that_ ,” Matt snarls. A rush of seething air pushes past his grinding teeth. His hands are locked on the steering wheel, white knuckled and shaking. Shiro swears he can hear the bones in his fingers cracking against each other, threatening to burst through the skin. The anger fades quickly though, and Matt twists around in his seat, concern dotting his face. “Pidgey kid, you good? Shiro?”

“I’m fine, Matt,” Pidge says, seemingly more disgruntled at the mess that now litters the floor of the car rather than the sudden stop. “What the hell was that person thinking?”

“They weren’t, obviously,” Shiro supplies. He rolls his neck and shoulders, easing the tension out of them. He's suddenly quite thankful for the slowed pace of the traffic. “Asshole didn’t even indicate.”

“The worst scum of the earthly and ethereal planes,” Pidge agrees.

 

xXx

 

They make it onto campus grounds without further incident, and with just enough time to snag some much needed caffeine.

 _Teladuv University_ is a sprawling expanse of modern plate glass buildings dotted with absurdly green lawns and elegant flowering plants. The campus is a five minute walk from the city CBD, and borders the _Arus Botanical Gardens_ , and the _Gladiator Sports Centre and Arena_. Despite being smack in the middle of the bustling metropolitan area, the grounds never seem to pick up the rumble of passing traffic, leaving it filled with the songs of native birds and the tinkling trickle of water fountains. Already there are students hijacking lawn seats and picnic tables, taking the opportunity to enjoy studying outside whilst the weather allows it. There’s a storm on the way; Shiro can feel the energy of it sizzling inside his bones, comfortable and familiar.

“Who do we have for _Interactive Glyph Design_?” Pidge questions. The lecture hall is thankfully right across from the campus café, but their overladen backpack still bumps heavily against their body as they jog to keep up with Shiro's and Matt’s long strides.

“Harris, I think,” Shiro replies. He slows his pace so Pidge can catch up. They’re nursing a jumbo size _Nunvil Energy_ drink spiked with espresso between their slim fingers, and Shiro eyes the concoction like one would a bloated, decaying rat; with obvious disgust and a healthy dose of fear.

“I had him last year for another class,” Matt says. “Easy going. Bit of a technophobe. Waxes poetically about the grunge era and how modern music just doesn’t ‘get it’ any more,” he adds thoughtfully. He reaches the lecture theatre doors, and they swing open automatically, allowing them entrance. Pidge scuttles inside and finds the closest unoccupied seat in the front row. They slip their backpack off their thin shoulders and sigh dramatically.

“Okay, definitely getting a student locker after class,” they groan. Matt claps them on the back sympathetically. He’s already fiddling with the zip of his notebook binder, pen at the ready. It’s one of the things Shiro greatly admires about Matt; his enthusiasm to learn. He plops down into the seat opposite Pidge. The student seating is as uncomfortable and restrictive as he remembers from his previous year.

A gaggle of Altean girls crowd the doorway, otherworldly in their beauty and mannerisms. Such is the norm for the Fae races, Shiro thinks. They’re chatting animatedly amongst themselves, language flowing and graceful and peppered with chirps, mindless of the slowly gathering cluster of students forming behind them. Shiro can see it becoming a problem, and soon. He waves, about to ask them to move, but is stopped short by someone else.

“Can you fucking move already?” a voice loudly cuts in. The conversation abruptly dies, and all heads swivel towards the doorway. Matt leans into Shiro’s space, suddenly giddy.

“Shit’s about to go down and class hasn’t even started yet,” he stage whispers. Shiro snorts, disbelieving, but sits up a little straighter despite himself. The Alteans spring apart as a figure pushes through. He's pale, features sharp, black hair a choppy mess that falls to his shoulders. Square framed glasses with tinted lenses perch delicately on his nose. He's quite possibly the pointiest person Shiro has seen; all angles and edges and corners. He's scowling, brows pulled taut and mouth a firm flat line. Thin, dark and snarky is what Shiro mentally dubs him.

“Rude,” one girl sniffs primly. Shiro has never witnessed someone burn alive before – and he hopes that he never does – because the _look_ the boy sends the Altean can only be described as blazing hot and carefully controlled _death_. He half expects the girl’s dress to catch alight. The glare lasts for several long and uncomfortable seconds. The Altean breaks eye contact first, slightly cowed. The boy stalks past and tromps up the aisle. He situates himself at the very back of the auditorium and throws himself into his seat, and he studiously ignores the other students that begin to filter into the room.

“... That was very high school,” Pidge comments quietly. It startles a laugh out of both Matt and Shiro. The Alteans, now muttering furiously to each other, throw them distasteful looks. Mr Harris chooses that moment to arrive in a flurry of trailing papers, wearing a neon green and yellow leopard print scarf that Shiro instantly decides is an abomination to every magical plane in existence. By the time the last stragglers take their seats, Harris has cursed at the projector, apologised to it, and then cursed it again. Pidge takes pity on him after another fives minutes of bemused muttering.

“Ah! Thank you, Miss Holt. Okay, everyone settle,” Harris announces. “We’ve got a lot to get through today and I’m not fond of repeating myself.” The entirety of the class groans. Harris ignores them. Shiro does his best to get comfortable in his seat, patiently awaiting the bombardment of information that comes with a new school year.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I haven't written fic in years.  
> I figured my first foray back into it should be a multi chapter fic with no current direction... good job, me!
> 
> I am a slow writer prone to nitpicking so please, please, _please_ bear with me whilst I get back into this. I have a vague idea of where this is going at best so updates will be sporadic. I am so sorry in advance (T.T);
> 
> I am dyslexic, have terrible eyesight, posted this at 2:20am, and have no beta, so if you spot some glaringly obvious errors those are my excuses.


End file.
